His Potential Wife

And of all the places in all of the world where she didn’t want to work, Summerhill would be right up there, too.

She had no option, however, but to take the job, and to work for him, because she desperately needed the money.

Not only had bills piled up during her most recent period of unemployment, but she’d had to take her car off the road because she couldn’t afford to renew the insurance, and Gemma would need a car to drive Jamie to school once the stormy winter weather set in. Being the sole breadwinner for their household was a challenging and never-ending task; however, it was one she was not about to shirk.

So she’d take this job and she’d turn up for work at Summerhill tomorrow because she had no other choice.

But if Scott Galbraith were ever to discover that she was responsible for the tragedy that had beset his family seven years ago, he would boot her out of his house so fast she wouldn’t have time to blink!

The morning after the Morganti’s fiasco, Scott woke from a deep sleep to the sound of Mikey’s demanding cry.

He rolled his eyes. Who needed an alarm clock with this kid in the house?

Lurching out of bed, he was stumbling to the door when Lizzie stormed into the room. She was holding a paperback in one hand and dragging her sister with the other.

“This little pest tore the last page out of my book!” She gave Amy a rough shake. “Before I’d even read it! Now she won’t tell me where she put it!”

Scott said, “Lizzie, isn’t that the book you bought at the library sale? The page might’ve been missing when—”

“I didn’t tear her old book!” Amy managed to wrench herself free. “I like books. I’d never tear—”

Another demanding scream from Mikey’s room drowned out whatever Amy had been going to say.

Scott tugged up the waistband of his cotton boxer shorts and made for the door. “Hang on, kids, we’ll settle this after I change Mikey’s diaper.”

“Pest!” Lizzie hissed at her sister.

“Am not!”

“Are, too!”

Shaking his head, Scott went into Mikey’s bedroom. His son and heir was jumping up and down in his crib, his pyjama bottoms at half-mast, weighed down by a soggy diaper. He stopped crying when he saw his father, and greeted him with a watery, heart-melting smile.

“Morning, buster,” Scott said.

“Potty, Dad!”

Scott grinned. “I think we’ve missed the boat there, son!” He noticed that Mikey’s blankets were scattered with scraps of paper. What the heck…?

Gathering up a few of the pieces, he scrutinized them and frowned as realization dawned.

“Mikey,” he said. “Where did you get this?”

“Book.”

“Lizzie’s book? This is a page from Lizzie’s book?”

“It fell out.” He nodded gravely. “Amy said.”

Out in the corridor, Scott heard Lizzie and her sister yelling at each other. Like a pair of heathens.

As he swept Mikey up and headed for the children’s bathroom, he felt a great surge of thankfulness that this was going to be the last morning he’d have to cope alone with his rebellious troops. The new nanny—Mrs. Trent’s promised “paragon of virtue”—was due to arrive at ten.

He could hardly wait.

Willow pedaled up the driveway to Summerhill on her bike, slowing as she reached the fork at the top. One road led to the forecourt of the Cape Cod house with its white siding and blue shuttered windows; the other led to the back.

The last—and only other time—she had ever visited this house, she had come not as an employee but as a highly distraught teenager with a letter to deliver.

The memory of that night, and the consequences of her actions, were still vivid in her mind. Far too vivid. And far too painful.

She shoved them back into their compartment and locked them up where they belonged. In the past.

She took the road to the rear of the house, where she parked her bike against the wall and then rang the doorbell. Taking in a deep breath to calm her nerves, she waited for someone to answer her summons.

She didn’t have long to wait.

The door swung in and as it did, her tentative smile froze in place when she saw the person facing her. Her new employer was the man she’d confronted so rudely yesterday!

And with a suddenness that stole her breath away, she realized why she’d had that feeling of déjà vu at the sight of him. Yes, she had met Scott Galbraith before…and on this very spot.

The memory sent a chill shivering through her.

But no way would he recognize her. That long-ago night had been dark and moonless, and as she’d handed over the envelope, she’d skulked embarrassedly in the shadows.

No, he certainly wouldn’t recognize her from seven years ago but he certainly recognized her from yesterday—and he seemed as stunned to see her as she was to see him.

“You!” His black eyebrows beetled in a scowl. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be my—”

“New nanny.” Willow was grateful that the words came out in her normal voice rather than in the mousy squeak she’d half expected. “Yes. I’m Willow Tyler—”

From the interior of the house came a wail, followed by a shrill “Pest! Pest! Pest!” followed by an ominous crash.

“Welcome, Ms. Tyler, to Summerhill.” Scott Galbraith’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “Yesterday, as I recall, you pronounced my children the worst-behaved you had ever seen.” With an exaggeratedly courtly gesture, he invited her to come inside. “From now on, they are in your hands.”

As she walked past him, her heart hammering like mad, he added, “I should warn you that in the past twenty months since their mother’s death, my children have gone through no fewer than five top-notch nannies.”

He closed the door firmly behind her.

Trapping her.

“I wonder,” he continued in that already so-familiar brown velvet voice, “just how long you are going to last!”

CHAPTER TWO

TWELVE hours. That was how long she had lasted…

And, Willow reflected unhappily, she’d have to admit as much to Dr. Galbraith in the morning.